The dwarf laughed, and one of his big hands caught the front of the smith's tunic. Without any seeming effort, he lifted the surprised Durnik and threw him several yards away. "You can start your second life right now if you want," he growled threateningly.

"Let me handle this, Durnik," Aunt Pol told the smith. "Beldin," she said coolly, "how long has it been since you've had a bath?"

The dwarf shrugged. "It rained on me a couple months ago."

"Not hard enough, though. You smell like an uncleaned pigsty."

Beldin grinned at her. "That's my girl." He chortled. "I was afraid the years had taken off your edge."

The two of them then began to trade the most hair-raising insults Garion had ever heard in his life. Graphic, ugly words pa.s.sed back and forth between them, almost sizzling in the air. Barak's eyes widened in astonishment, and Mandorallen's face blanched often. Ce'Nedra, her face flaming, bolted out of earshot.

The worse the insults, however, the more the hideous Beldin smiled. Finally Aunt Pol delivered an epithet so vile that Garion actually cringed, and the ugly little man collapsed on the ground, roaring with laughter and hammering at the dirt with his great fists. "By the G.o.ds, I've missed you, Pol!" he gasped. "Come here and give us a kiss."

She smiled, kissing his dirty face affectionately. "Mangy dog."

"Big cow." He grinned, catching her in a crushing embrace.

"I'll need my ribs more or less in one piece, uncle," she told him.

"I haven't cracked any of your ribs in years, my girl."

"I'd like to keep it that way."

The twins hurried across to the dwarf Beldin, carrying a large plate of steaming stew and a huge tankard. The ugly man looked curiously at the plate, then casually dumped the stew on the ground and tossed the plate away. "Doesn't smell too bad." He squatted and began to stuff the food into his mouth with both hands, pausing only now and then to spit out some of the larger pebbles that clung to the chunks of meat. When he had finished, he swilled down the contents of the tankard, belched thunderously, and sat back, scratching at his matted hair with gravy-smeared fingers. "Let's get down to business," he said.

"Where have you been?" Belgarath asked him.

"Central Cthol Murgos. I've been sitting on a hilltop since the Battle of Vo Mimbre, watching the cave where Belzedar took Torak."

"Five hundred years?" Silk gasped.

Beldin shrugged. "More or less," he replied indifferently. "Somebody had to keep an eye on Burnt-Face, and I wasn't doing anything that couldn't be interrupted."

"You said you saw Belzedar," Aunt Pol said.

"About a month ago. He came to the cave as if he had a demon on his tail and pulled Torak out. Then he changed himself into a vulture and flew off with the body."

"That must have been right after Ctuchik caught him at the Nyissan border and took the Orb away from him," Belgarath mused.

"I wouldn't know about that. That was part of your responsibility, not mine. All I was supposed to do was keep watch over Torak. Did any of the ashes fall on you?"

"Which ashes?" one of the twins asked.

"When Belzedar took Torak out of the cave, the mountain exploded -blew its guts out. I imagine it had something to do with the force surrounding One-Eye's body. It was still blowing when I left."

"We wondered what had caused the eruption," Aunt Pol commented. "It put ash down an inch deep all over Nyissa."

"Good. Too bad it wasn't deeper."

"Did you see any signs-"

"-of Torak stirring?" the twins asked.

"Can't you two ever talk straight?" Beldin demanded.

"We're sorry-"

"-it's our nature."

The ugly little man shook his head with disgust. "Never mind. No. Torak didn't move once in the whole five hundred years. There was mold on him when Belzedar dragged him out of the cave."

"Did you follow Belzedar?" Belgarath asked.

"Naturally."

"Where did he take Torak?"

"Now where do you think, idiot? To the ruins of Cthol Mishrak in Mallorea, of course. There are only a few places on earth that will bear Torak's weight, and that's one of them. Belzedar will have to keep Ctuchik and the Orb away from Torak, and that's the only place he could go. The Mallorean Grolims refuse to accept Ctuchik's authority, so Belzedar will be safe there. It will cost him a great deal to pay for their aid, but they'll keep Ctuchik out of Mallorea - unless he raises an army of Murgos and invades."

"That's something we could hope for," Barak said.

"You're supposed to be a bear, not a donkey," Beldin told him. "Don't base your hopes on the impossible. Neither Ctuchik nor Belzedar would start that sort of war at this particular time - not with Belgarion here stalking through the world like an earthquake." He scowled at Aunt Pol. "Can't you teach him to be a little quieter? Or are your wits getting as flabby as your behind?"

"Be civil, uncle," she replied. "The boy's just coming into his strength. We were all a bit clumsy at first."

"He doesn't have time to be a baby, Pol. The stars are dropping into southern Cthol Murgos like poisoned roaches, and dead Grolims are moaning in their tombs from Rak Cthol to Rak Hagga. The time's on us, and he has to be ready."

"He'll be ready, uncle."

"Maybe," the filthy man said sourly.

"Are you going back to Cthol Mishrak?" Belgarath asked.

"No. Our Master told me to stay here. The twins and I have work to do and we don't have much time."

"He spoke to-"

"-us, too."

"Stop that!" Beldin snapped. He turned back to Belgarath. "Are you going to Rak Cthol now?"

"Not yet. We've got to go to Prolgu first. I have to talk to the Gorim, and we've got to pick up another member of the party."

"I noticed that your group wasn't complete yet. What about the last one?"

Belgarath spread his hands. "That's the one that worries me. I haven't been able to find any trace of her - and I've been looking for three thousand years."

"You spent too much time looking in alehouses."

"I noticed the same thing, uncle," Aunt Pol said with a sweet little smile.

"Where do we go after Prolgu?" Barak asked.

"I think that then we'll go to Rak Cthol," Belgarath replied rather grimly. "We've got to get the Orb back from Ctuchik, and I've been meaning to have a rather pointed discussion with the magician of the Murgos for a long, long time, now."

Part Three - ULGO

Chapter Thirteen.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING they turned northwest and rode toward the stark, white peaks of the mountains of Ulgo, glittering in the morning sun above the lush meadows of the Vale.

"Snow up there," Barak observed. "It could be a difficult trip."

"It always is," Hettar told him.

"Have you been to Prolgu before?" Durnik asked.

"A few times. We keep communications open with the Ulgos. Our visits are mostly ceremonial."

Princess Ce'Nedra had been riding beside Aunt Pol, her tiny face troubled. "How can you stand him, Lady Polgara?" she burst out finally. "He's so ugly."

"Who's that, dear?"

"That awful dwarf."

"Uncle Beldin?" Aunt Pol looked mildly surprised. "He's always been like that. You have to get to know him, that's all."

"But he says such terrible things to you."

"It's the way he hides his real feelings," Aunt Pol explained. "He's a very gentle person, really, but people don't expect that - coming from him. When he was a child, his people drove him out because he was so deformed and hideous. When he finally came to the Vale, our Master saw past the ugliness to the beauty in his mind."

"But does he have to be so dirty?"

Aunt Pol shrugged slightly. "He hates his deformed body, so he ignores it." She looked at the princess, her eyes calm. "It's the easiest thing in the world to judge things by appearances, Ce'Nedra," she said, "and it's usually wrong. Uncle Beldin and I are very fond of each other. That's why we take the trouble to invent such elaborate insults. Compliments would be hypocrisy - he is, after all, very ugly."

"I just don't understand." Ce'Nedra sounded baffled.

"Love can show itself in many strange ways," Aunt Pol told her. Her tone was offhand, but the look she directed at the tiny princess was penetrating.

Ce'Nedra flickered one quick look at Garion, and then averted her eyes, blushing slightly.

Garion considered the exchange between his Aunt Pol and the princess as he rode. It was quite obvious that Aunt Pol had been telling the little girl something important, but whatever it was escaped him.

They rode for several days across the Vale and then moved up into the foothills which cl.u.s.tered along the flanks of the ragged peaks that formed the land of the Ulgos. Once again the seasons changed as they rode. It was early autumn as they crested the first low range, and the valleys beyond were aflame with crimson leaves. At the top of a second, higher range, the trees had been swept bare, and the wind had the first bite of winter in it as it whistled down from the peaks. The sky grew overcast, and tendrils of cloud seeped down the rocky gorges above them. Spits of intermittent snow and rain pelted them as they climbed higher up the rocky slopes.

"I suppose we'd better begin keeping an eye out for Brill," Silk said hopefully one snowy afternoon. "It's about time for him to show up again."

"Not very likely," Belgarath replied. "Murgos avoid Ulgoland even more than they avoid the Vale. Ulgos dislike Angaraks intensely."

"So do Alorns."

"Ulgos can see in the dark, though," the old man told him. "Murgos who come into these mountains tend not to wake up from their first night's sleep up here. I don't think we need to worry about Brill."

"Pity," Silk remarked with a certain disappointment.

"It won't hurt to keep our eyes open, though. There are worse things than Murgos in the mountains of Ulgo."

Silk scoffed. "Aren't those stories exaggerated?"

"No. Not really."

"The region abounds with monsters, Prince Kheldar," Mandorallen a.s.sured the little man. "Some years back, a dozen foolish young knights of my acquaintance rode into these mountains to test their bravery and prowess against the unseemly beasts. Not one returned."

When they crested the next ridge, the full force of a winter gale struck them. Snow, which had grown steadily heavier as they climbed, drove horizontally in the howling wind.

"We'll have to take cover until this blows over, Belgarath," Barak shouted above the wind, fighting to keep his flapping bearskin cape around him.

"Let's drop down into this next valley," Belgarath replied, also struggling with his cloak. "The trees down there should break the wind."

They crossed the ridge and angled down toward the pines cl.u.s.tered at the bottom of the basin ahead. Garion pulled his cloak tighter and bowed his head into the shrieking wind.

The thick stand of sapling pine in the basin blocked the force of the gale, but the snow swirled about them as they reined in.

"We're not going to get much farther today, Belgarath," Barak declared, trying to brush the snow out of his beard. "We might as well hole up here and wait for morning."

"What's that?" Durnik asked sharply, c.o.c.king his head to one side.

"The wind," Barak shrugged.

"No. Listen."

Above the howling of the wind, a shrill whinnying sound came to them.

"Look there." Hettar pointed.

Dimly they saw a dozen horselike animals crossing the ridge behind them. Their shapes were blurred by the thickly falling snow, and their line as they moved seemed almost ghostly. On a rise just above them stood a huge stallion, his mane and tail tossing in the wind. His neigh was almost a shrill scream.

"Hrulgin!" Belgarath said sharply.

"Can we outrun them?" Silk asked hopefully.